The Phantom of My House
by Phantom-Lover 312
Summary: In 1922, long after the events of le Fantome de l'Opera, the people of Paris decided they had had enough of the cursed Opera Populaire. The government, afraid of a mass burning, agreed to demolish the infamous building. To replace it, a large mansion was placed. Ever since I arrived, strange things have happened. A mysterious male singer, unwanted attention, and who is "Christine?"
1. Skip if you want

YOU HAVE TOTAL PERMISSION TO SKIP THIS CHAPTER

I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or other characters mentioned by him. They belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Gaston Leroux.

I own Devon Lancer, her father Julian Lancer, her mother Vanessa Vance and I own the change to the opera house.

Rated T for violence and use of euphemisms.

Special thanks to PhantomWolf79 for helping me out with this story.

I am accepting ideas!

THIS IS NOT YOUR AVERAGE CRAZY FANFIC! There is no teleporting into the past, but instead ********* ** ****** ****.

OOPS! THAT'S A SPOILER! Spoilers get star'd out. For example, ***** ** ***** ** **** *** ********* ** **** ***** ** ****** ***.

I just gave away a huge part of the story. Don't tell anyone! :P


	2. Chapter 1

In 1922, long after the events of le Fantome de l'Opera, the people of Paris decided they had had enough of the cursed Opera Populaire. The government, afraid of a mass burning, agreed to demolish the infamous building. To replace it, a large mansion was placed. The architect was never credited, because he never gave his name. Going by "Shapa," the genius built a magnificent palace for a home before disappearing. Many Frenchmen said it was like Heaven's mansion. Unfortunately, the accidents were anything but heavenly.

The first family moved in during 1945, just after WWII. It was a large family of an aristocrat, five children and their parents. None of the children survived their first two years in the house. Three children found dead in their rooms, hung by bed frames, hooks, anything a rope could fit on.

The other two mysteriously vanished, and after months of searching nothing was found.

The next was less lucky in my opinion. A couple and their daughter lived in the house from 1955 to 1956 before the wife had to be taken to an insane asylum and the daughter was found hung in her room.

The last family, in 1998, was an elderly couple, their daughter-in-law, and her two sons. No one was killed, but they were severely terrified. They left with a word of warning, saying that no one should live there.

Now, who lives in the mansion? Why, I get to be the lucky winner. In the year 2012, my dad bought the house for my mom and I, but they got a divorce a few months ago. It's just daddy and I right now. Well, I shouldn't say just us...

I've heard a voice, in the middle of the night. He pines for a girl named "Christine." Oh, and every night he sings the most beautiful song. Daddy says I'm making it up in my mind, but no voice is that clear in my mind.

Oh, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Devon, Devon Lancer. I'm my daddy's only daughter, so I get pretty spoiled. I'm glad daddy won the lawsuit for me, of course it's not going to be necessary. I'm turning eighteen in a year, but at least I'm living in Paris.

Wait, I'm probably boring you. I guess I should start from the beginning. Than at least you'll have a better understanding.

* * *

_**Two months ago**_

"There it is, Dev. Our new home." Daddy pointed to the most beautiful mansion I'd seen since I left America. The old marble held a mysterious shine, with gold trimming along the windows and door frames. The columns supported the yellow shining gargoyles, with their grotesque faces and sadistic smiles. The grey roof told me that we're going to freeze during the winter. Atop, at the highest point of the roof, three angels played their lyres, and sent blessings to the few walking by.

I coughed before mumbling, "It's okay."

He leaned in a bit with a knowing smile. "You're not afraid of ghosts are you?" He inquired with a hushed tone.

The reason my daddy's my favorite! He knows how to get me excited about something. "Are you implying that this house is haunted, father dearest?" I pretended to be a formal aristocrat, but we bursted out laughing about it. (I can't even pretend to be that form of snotty.)

He clears his throat before becoming mysterious. "There have been several deaths throughout the years, all centered around what this building used to be." He pauses, because he has to build the tension. "This was the Opera Populaire, the infamous home of the Phantom of the Opera."

I rolled my eyes. Although I believe in the possibility of ghosts, I don't believe that he is still alive. I mean, that was 143 years ago.

The old blue cadillac spurts as we reach the front doors. I salvage my suitcase and backpack from the trunk of the ancient vehicle before staring up at the incredible archen-structure. (And yes, archen-structure is a word in my family. I'm working on getting it out there in the world! Spread the word!) This is definitely a dignified building.

Stepping in, the foyer is beyond description, even now. There's a reason that people thought an angel built it. The whole room shined with an otherworldly light. The walls and floors were stark white, and the crimson carpets looked brand new. The authentic candles were lit, even though there was electric lights. Two curved staircases held the sides, and in the center of the room was a bouquet of red roses. A note was tied to them with black ribbon, and being the curious devil I am, I opened it.

"**Welcome to your new home, Mlle. Devon Lancer. **

**I am the guardian of this grand estate, and I suggest you treat her with respect. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you.**

**Merci**" That's where it ended. No name...how did this person get my name?

I decided not to bring it up to my dad. For all I knew, it could've been him who sent it.

I wouldn't put it past him. "Where's my room?" I questioned, my arm calling for a break from my heavy backpack.

"You'll have to go to the basement room until your room is finished, sweetheart. Go through the door in front of you, turn left down the stairs and turn right, it should be the second door on the left." Daddy called from outside, grabbing some groceries out of the back seat.

Left, Right, Left. It wasn't that hard to find. The basement wasn't like the creepy basements in movies, it was actually quite lovely. My temporary room had a wonderful American feel to it, with pine wood panels and a rustic-style bed. The handcrafted frame reminded me of the Montana mountains, while the large dresser had a Wyoming sense about it.

I put what few clothes I had into the first two drawers, leaving the other eight for other things. Flopping on the bed, I curled up into a ball. I thought a nap would help with jet lag, but that wasn't what happened.


	3. Chapter 2

**Hello again! **

**I want to publicly congratulate Andimpink! You are the first person to leave a review! YAY! XD**

**And I wanted to thank you for the idea. Alas, ** ******* **** *** **** ***.**

**Oh, and I wanted to take this time to say that I love PhantomWolf79! She helped me with this chapter, and the minor implant of feels!**

* * *

_**~*Chapter 2*~**_

The faintest sound rang in my ears, and I jolted up. I couldn't see him, he wasn't in my room.

But I could hear him. "Christine. Christine. Christine." He moaned, so softly I thought I was imagining it. I almost wanted to cry, hearing the pain and anguish in his voice. "Why, Christine? Why did you do this to me?" He cried.

There was no clock in my room, and I had no wristwatch, so I didn't know what time it was. His cries continued, begging for an answer from that "Christine" to answer him.

Not knowing what to do, I laid back down. I tried to go back to sleep, but his tears filled my mind. "Would you like me to help?" I asked the air around me.

"What could _you_ do?" He responded. I jumped up to my feet. He talked. To me.

I cleared my throat. "Um, I could listen...or maybe calm you or something." I turned around the room, trying to see anyone.

"Can you...sing?" He inquired softly.

I shook my head. "Anything else, but not singing."

"Why?" Curiosity filled his voice, but it was laced with something else...disappointment.

"My mom..." My mind trailed off to only days before.

_**Memory: The day I left**_

_"Devon Vance, stop right now!" Vanessa yelled as I stormed up to my room._

_I turned on my heels and glared at my mother. "Listen to me, Vanessa," I emphasized her name, "I am not a Vance, I am a Lancer. And I am going to Paris to live with my dad."_

_She snarled, "And what will you do in France, hm? Try to make your fantasy real?" Her face became dark as she added, "You are a stupid child."_

_"Shut up." I whispered threateningly._

_Her nose crinkled. "You're not beautiful, and only beautiful people can sing." She cackled and added another insult, "A toad sounds better than you!"_

_I slapped her. "Shut up!" I hollered at her surprised face. "I can be whatever I want." I finished the journey and slammed the door shut. Forcing clothes into a carry on suitcase, I looked into the mirror. For a moment, I saw the girl my mother said I was._

_The ugly useless young lady who was not worthy of any care. She seemed frightened by the idea of change, and begged to remain here._

_But she was shoved aside by the me I knew I was, the strong one. The one with the long black hair and the stunning light blue eyes. She copied my smirk, and mouthed as I said "I can be whoever I want."_

_As I packed my laptop, Kindle and mp3 into a backpack, I sang softly. But it didn't sound like how I normally sing. I sounded scared, and nervous. I was always an average singer I realized. I jammed the miscellaneous chords into the pockets of the suitcase and closed them up. A car honked three times, telling me it was time to go._

_I didn't say goodbye to Vanessa. Instead, with my back turned to her, I said "Sayonara." Mr. Miramoto, my Japanese teacher, had once told me that is how Japanese say "goodbye forever." And I had decided that if I never saw Vanessa again it would be too soon._

_**Return**_

"...nevermind." I breathed. "I'm just not a good singer."

I heard him sigh sadly. "I can try." I wanted to help him. I just felt so bad for him.

"That would be extremely kind of you." He mused.

I bite my lip.

"There~ used to be a greying tower

alone by the sea,

You~ became the light on

the dark side of me

And love~ remains a drug

that's the high and not the pill.

But did you know,

That when it snows

My eyes become large

and the light that you shine can be seen?"

I stopped there, 'cause my singing sounded like a scratchy kid's voice. "Sorry, that was bad." I chuckled sadly, looking down at the floor.

To my joy and surprise, he chuckled happily. "It's been a long time since anyone has been so kind." The voice was coming from behind me, but when I turned, no one was there. I turned and swept the room quickly. I was totally alone. "Thank you, Mlle. Devon."

"You're welcome, monsieur." I nodded to the room, hoping he saw somehow.

And yes, I understand French lingo. You don't move somewhere without a basic idea of what language you're going to be hearing around you. Kinda the reason I learned Japanese. I was REALLY hoping daddy would move there, but Paris is also great.

After listening to the silence for a time, I laid back down to sleep.

"_Fais do do, Colas mon petit chérie_

_Fais do do, t'auras du lolo._

_Maman est en haut,_  
_Elle fait des gateaux_

_Papa est en bas,_  
_Il fait du chocolat._

_Fais do do, Colas mon petit chérie_

_Fais do do, t'auras du lolo._" The man softly sang, lulling my already tired senses. Helping me into sleep, I quietly whispered thanks for the air.

* * *

**How many of you just had Erik feels? :') Anyone who wants to hug Erik may do so!**

**Erik: O.O" Why are you saying that?**

**Me: Because you are sad!**

**PhantomWolf79: BTW, Christine is in fact dead.**

**Erik: Christine...:"(**

**SEND HIM HUGS!**


	4. Chapter 3

~*Chapter 3*~

I groaned as I stretched out against the coarse blankets. For a fleeting second I wondered where I was before remembering that I was in the basement.

The events from hours ago began to flood into my mind. Was he real? Obviously not. My mind created him, that was the most likely answer.

I switched shirts, staying in my dull old jeans. Sliding on a blue camisole over a white tank-top, I tiptoed out of the cellar. "Daddy?" I whisper-called, not wanting him to wake up if he wasn't already up. Somehow making my way into the kitchen, I found a note.

"Hey Dev.  
Hope you slept well. I'm in Calais, I'll be back in a week or so. Watch the house and be safe.  
Dad "

I placed the note back on the table and began to scour the cabinets. Of course, knowing my dad, there were poptarts, self-serving cups of lasagna and raviolis, and canned soups. He had not upgraded since he left.

Grabbing a box of brown-sugar-cinnamon pop tarts, I walked through the other parts of the house. The kitchen only had one entrance and exit, with was through the dining room. The dining room opened up through the main room, just through the foyer. From there, there was the staircase to the basement, a library and a grand ballroom.

Up the stairs, a grand stage rested unused. Touching the old wood I could sense the sorrow that was experienced on this stage. Clamoring up, I walked around the large stage.

I sort of pranced around the stage, twirling and falling down every few minutes. "This is amazing." I breathed, listening to the acoustics.

"Good morning, Mlle. Devon." The man's voice filled the hall, rebounding off of the walls.

Goosebumps rose on my arm. "Good morning, monsieur." I looked around, trying to find the man. If I'm making this up in my head, he should be standing somewhere.

"What are you looking for?" He asked, amusement glazing his voice.

"You."

"Why?"

"To prove I'm not crazy."

He scoffed. "Mlle. Devon, do you think you're going insane?"

I nodded. "Yes. Because I'm talking to a person in my head."

He didn't answer, and I stood in that spot for like ten minutes and he didn't say another word. Eventually I left the stage and went outside for some air.

The moment I stepped out the door something hit me in the back of the head. I heard a voice behind me, talking to me and trying to make sure I was okay, but at the time I couldn't see. "Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle êtes-vous d'accord?" A boy cried. His voice was higher than my imaginary friend. "Que dois-je faire? Que dois-je faire?" (Miss! Miss are you okay? What do I do? What do I do?)

"Arrêtez s'agiter, je vais bien." I snapped irritatedly. I noticed the soccer ball nearby and scowled. "Soyez prudent lorsque vous donnez un coup cela. Il aurait brisé une fenêtre." (Stop fussing, I'm fine. Be careful when you kick that. It would have broken a window.)

The boy smiled. He was about my age, with blonde hair and blue eyes. "Je pense que votre tête est plus important que d'une fenêtre." He said sheepishly. "Vous êtes la fille de M. Lancer?" When I nodded, he smiled and said, "Je m'appelle Archer." (I think your head is more important than a window. Are you Mr. Lancer's daughter? My name's Archer.)

"Je m'appelle Devon." I said with a smile. "Tu parle anglais?" I inquired, and when he nodded his head I sighed with relief. "That good, cause I didn't understand have of what you said." He and I laughed. (My name's Devon. Do you speak english?)

We sat on the steps to the door and just talked for a while. Apparently the story was true, that the mansion was built on the land the opera house was on. His great-grandparents were apart of the people who wanted it destroyed, and their children were friends with the first family before the horrible accidents. "What kind of accidents?" I thought aloud.

Archer's face paled. "There were five children, two girls and three boys." He took a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves. "My grandfather told be the boys all committed suicide. They hung themselves, the oldest from his bedpost, the middle from a hook in the wall and the youngest from a chandelier in his bedroom."

I leaned away from the house a bit. Maybe I was talking to a ghost. "And the girls? What happened to them?"

"No one knows." Archer stared at the sidewalk. "They vanished without a trace."

My eyes flickered to the house and I cringed a bit. Archer gave me a curious look, and touched my leg. "Are you alright, Devon?"

I closed my eyes and looked away from my house. "I'm okay." I didn't even believe what I was saying. I let a fake smile sit on my lips, but I felt so cold and afraid. And of a building, nevertheless.

But I thought, _Is that really what I'm afraid of?_


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Erik's POV

That girl...Devon...

My mind reeled as I watched her make a fool of herself on the same wood Christine starred on.

The stage she exposed me on...

"This is amazing..." She said in a quiet voice, listening to the echo. She seemed so entranced by the music hall. Had they built the way I truly wanted, it would've been a more brilliant theater hall.

I decided to surprise her. "Good morning, Mlle. Devon." I said, using the acoustics to hide my location.

She stood up and looked around the theater. "Good morning, monsieur." She answered respectively.

I mentally laughed at how frightened she seemed. "What are you looking for?" I asked, holding in my laughter as much as possible.

"You." Was her answer. So plain and direct, I was caught off-guard.

"Why?"

"To prove I'm not crazy." Again, so blunt that I couldn't help but wonder if she was accustomed to talking to herself.

I laughed a bit, but I returned to my serious mind set. "Mlle. Devon, do you think you're going insane?"

"Yes. Because I'm talking to a person in my head." She threw her hands in the air. I smiled slyly at her. Perhaps she'd be useful. I slipped into the shadows and watched her stand for no more than two minutes before becoming bored and left.

Travelling down a different set of staircases then the ones I'd leave my angel with, I went to my world of darkness.

The azure lake had been drained when the mansion was constructed, meaning that Caesar could have ridden through the empty waterways. But Caesar, like much of my world, had died on the day of rebuilding. Had it not been for my moves as Shapa, my home would've been completely destroyed. And where would I go? Mm. Giry had forsaken me, along with Meg, and the Vicomte de Chagny would've killed me before I entered his home. And my Christine...long in her grave.

My home had changed with the times. My pipe organ was removed and replaced by a wooden piano which was quickly covered in sheet music. My many mirrors had been removed revealing the tunnels I'd dug out almost two centuries ago. The swan bed I'd prepared for Christine had been taken, and I was glad to be rid of it. It was a horrid memory. That space was instead for the artwork I'd taken up many years before. Easels stood with half-finished works, most only sketches on canvas and other with splashes of colors.

I stared long and hard at the only complete painting I had. Christine's wavy hair and wide wonder-filled eyes. Her gentle smile made my heart yearn for her more than ever. "Oh Christine..." I caressed the canvas that my angel had been captured on. If I had more of the potion Daroga had given me, I'd have given my angel some.

The night after I burned the opera house to the ground, Daroga came. He knew the way down to my lair, though his visits weren't frequent. The details concerning our discourse were lost in the folds of my mind, but he handed me a vial equivalent to a piano key. "This will help let time escape you." Was his reason for giving it to me. I took the vial and drank its black liquid. It tasted bitter, like lemons and red peppers. The only thing I remembered after that was disguising myself as Shapa and rebuilding my home to remain concealed.

The echo of the main doors closing told me that either Devon had gone outside or Richard had returned. But his trips to Calais weren't that short, therefore the latter was true.

Did she run away? A voice my mind developed years before inquired.

"Even if she did," I muttered aloud, "it is none of my concern."

But suppose her father, enraged, informed the authorities on you? The voice snidely remarked.

"They would consider him crazy and pay him no mind." I answered briskly, shuffling some paper around. But I found myself travelling to the roof to watch for Devon. I couldn't see her from above, but her voice drifted on the wind.

"And the girls?" Her voice sounded like an echo. "What happened to them?"

"No one knows." A boy answered. A fire ignited in my blood, but I didn't know why. "They vanished without a trace."

A long pause ensued before the boy spoke again, "Are you alright, Devon?"

"I'm okay." Her voice quavered, letting me hear her fear. The wind whipped my cape around and I quickly ducked back into my secret tunnels to avoid being noticed.

Heading back down to my world, I heard the door open again and I knew that Devon had reentered the house.

Go to her. The voice urged. But I ignored its promptings and laid on the old boat, which I had converted into a bed. Surely the desire to see Devon would end soon.

I was wrong.

**I've been neglectful of you, my dear readers. So, here's a chapter in Erik's POV. I hope to be updating more often, but I can't make any promises. **

**Oh, and has anyone else played **_Mystery Legends: The Phantom of The Opera_**? If so, do you agree that it is the greatest game in the universe of awesome games?**


End file.
